


Wild Hunt

by hitsuaya



Series: to run, without chains [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, Supernatural Elements, Symbolism, the Stag and the Coyote, the retribution we deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitsuaya/pseuds/hitsuaya
Summary: "I'm gonna find them all cowpoke. I'm gonna find them all and have a proper reunion. You just be patient brother. I'll be sure to send them to you real soon."
Series: to run, without chains [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719598
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Wild Hunt

  
He dies choking on his own blood, just as the first rays of the rising sun break and paint the world with light.

  
  
  
They are walking, no, running, but do they have legs? How many, two, four, none? They are traveling, but there is no destination, it's not the right word, not the right feeling, they have a goal, a trail... They are

  
  
  
The wound in his stomach robs him from the ability to think and to act and it's the last bit of malice in a long line of unnecessary cruelties. He lays there, panting for one more breath, one more drop of strength...

He dies choking on his own blood, just as the first rays of the rising sun break and paint the world in light.

  
  
  
hunting.  
  
They hunt, but not by sight or smell or any other means he knew before. They are tracking by the taint left behind, the small cruelties inflicted upon others and the path is clear as paved road. They do not know how others see them; for most they are invisible as they walk, trot, sneak past them, sniffing at their pain and seeking it's source...  
  
But there are a few who take notice, who startle as they draw near, then grow prey-still. Part of them wants to- to go for their neck then, to rip and eat and eat and eat as if that would help that lean darkness inside that has teeth, that wants to rip the world to shreds.  
  
It's a dark thing, a hungry thing, and it was inside him all along, it was the coyote standing at the door, it's wailing howl made robbing easier, made killing thoughtless.  
  
It's the too long teeth and it's the promise of death.

  
  
  
Arthur tries to get up, tries to protect, to kill, to-  
  
The shot is deafening, like the last bang of the judge's hammer after the death sentence. He is shot down like a dog, in the stomach to deny him the immediate death.  
  
"I'm gonna find them all cowpoke. I'm gonna find them all and have a proper reunion. You just be patient brother. I'll be sure to send them to you real soon."  
  
He can't form words anymore, his breath stolen by pain, by disease, by betrayal.  
  
The wound in his stomach robs him from the ability to think and to act and it's the last bit of malice in a long line of unnecessary cruelties. He lays there, panting for one more breath, one more drop of strength...  
  
He dies choking on his own blood, just as the first rays of the rising sun break and paint the world in light.

  
  
  
They are close, and even that soft, golden part of him that always wants to be cautious, wants to be quiet and still, is rearing, antlers longing for the blood of the betrayer.  
  
It's a quiet thing, that golden spot, quiet and fragile, but there is strength in there, in the way it grew against everything the world taught him. It was in the way Sean laughed, it was in the proud look Lenny wore when he succeeded, it was in the corner in Hosea's eye as the old man laughed and it was in the soft touch when Charles pulled him close into that last hug, before the world got lost in darkness.  
  
It was in every person when he greeted them with gentle words instead of bullets, it was in the easiness of a stranger's stance after he got them home safe, it was in the corner of the smiles he got when he helped.  
  
It's the antlers and it's the promise of rest after the hunt.

  
  
  
Dutch leaves.  
Every breath is agony.  
It's over, over for the gang, over for the _family_ if it ever existed, and it's over for him.  
He is tired, he feels the end in his bones and he just wants to look at the stars, one more time, with one last breath before he can finally let go-  
Micah blocks out the sky as he steps over him.

"You say Marston won, huh?" His voice is pained and he is hunched over from their fight, but the revolver in his hand does not require strength to kill. Micah shows his teeth, but it is not a smile and Arthur tries to fight again, fight for one more breath, for the strength for one more fight. "I'm sure you think him and Abigail and sweet, sweet Jack are out, huh? Well guess what Morgan."

Arthur tries to get up, tries to protect, to kill, to-  
The shot is deafening, like the last bang of the judge's hammer after the death sentence. He is shot down like a dog, in the stomach to deny him the immediate death.

"I'm gonna find them all cowpoke. I'm gonna find them all and have a proper reunion. You just be patient brother. I'll be sure to send them to meet you real soon."

He can't form words anymore, his breath stolen by pain, by disease, by betrayal.  
The wound in his stomach robs him from the ability to think and to act and it's the last bit of malice in a long line of unnecessary cruelties. He lays there, panting for one more breath, one more drop of strength...

He dies choking on his own blood, just as the first rays of the rising sun break and paint the world in light.

  
  
  
It is cold around them.  
  
The dualism inside him is united, focused on the single goal that is finally near them, near enough to reach, near enough to kill. They scale the mountain in big leaps, feet, paws, hooves finding a trail among the dead in the snow, tracking the taint of cruelty that is left in their quarry's wake.  
  
There are others on the top, living beings and he knows them all, but there is no _he_ now, there is only _them_ , with too long teeth and branching antlers, and the need to protect, the need to kill echoing in their bones.  
  
Micah is in the center, holding his hands up, and they are on him before anyone can move, before anyone can react.  
  
They hit him like a freight train and as he stumbles to the ground hooves trample on his chest until it caves in, too long fangs tear into his belly, pulling his insides onto the snow, and human hands grip his throat to strangle the last of his life out.  
  
Micah Bell dies, reduced to a heap of meat and bones on the mountaintop as the wind howls around them.  
  
They are in the middle of the carnage, an amalgamation of wants and fears, and protect and kill-  
  
"Arthur?"  
  
There is John, stunned, his pistol pointing at the ground in his slackened grip, and the stag wants to go to him, to touch him one more time. In the golden light there is rest.  
  
There is Dutch, his grip on his revolver vice-strong, even if his hands shake and the coyote is baying for his blood, for the death of the betrayer who let the rot take hold. In the lean dark there is only death.  
  
  
  
But Arthur longs for Charles, who is hurt, who is bleeding, and takes a step, then another and another, stumbling just before reaching the man on the ground and

and Charles catches him, as always.  
  
  
  
  
The wind howls as Arthur takes a breath, without the lean darkness and without the golden light, while snow falls gently, painting the world in white.


End file.
